Page 86 of Takeover

It’s a cross between what an evil bitch Lindsay is compared to how Tara has dealt with her since the day they met. I love my son more than anything, but I question what the hell I was thinking when I ever thought getting involved with Lindsay was a good idea. Maybe it was our upbringing and only associating with certain people. She fit the mold. She comes from a rich family, though their fortune has taken a hit. We’re from all the same circles for the most part, and when I met her, I was struck by her beauty and her wit. I thought she had a lot of drive, but as soon as we got engaged, she quit her job as a curator so she could focus on planning our wedding.

There was never any discussion of her getting a job after we married, but she was going to chair charities or start her own. None of that ever happened. Her days consisted of lunch with her friends or crashing my office at all hours of the day. I traveled more back then, and Lindsay complained about being lonely. I thought I loved her and didn’t want my marriage to fail. I was a new CEO with long hours, endless travel, and a restless wife, unwilling to find happiness in anything.

The irony of all of this is that Lindsay is the one who first brought up having a baby. She felt it would give her purpose. I was thrilled to hear it, and she got pregnant immediately, but months of morning sickness and, according to her, too much weight gain, took the joy out of what she thought pregnancy was going to be. Deep down, I knew the marriage was doomed before she ever gave birth. I hoped for a different outcome, but I knew that there was nothing that could make Lindsay happy. And I was right.

I fell in love with my son the minute I laid eyes on him, but Lindsay barely held him. Thinking she had post-partum depression, I got her help. She improved slightly, but she never bonded with him the way I hoped. She never took care of him. She left that to the nannies and to me.

I was relieved by the time we finalized the divorce. Whatever feelings I’d had died during the divorce process. She seemed relieved when I asked for full custody, but I still insisted she get him one weekend a month. At the time, I thought I was doing it for the well being of my son. I agreed to cover nannies whenever Vincent would have an overnight visit. I believed that he had a right to get to know his mother, but now I’m second guessing that decision.

“Earth to Ethan,” Tara says. I look down to see her standing in front of me, waving her hand in my face. “Where are you, baby?” She caresses my cheek, and when she smiles, all my problems disappear.

“Right here. And Vincent will love baking with you. He’s going to make a mess.”

“Yeah, well, I know I can’t count on you to clean up.” She wraps her arms around me and lays her head on my chest. “Whatever is going on in that head of yours, drop it, okay. Just for today. You can take on the world tomorrow.”

I kiss the top of her head and nod in agreement.

“Today is for you and Vincent.”

Minutes later, my phone rings, and the doorman says Vincent is in the lobby. This time, he’s not with Lindsay. He’s with Phyllis. I should have known Lindsay wouldn’t show her face here today, and with how I’m feeling, it’s for the best.

Instead of letting Phyllis up, I go downstairs and get my son. He’s tired, but happy when he sees me. He rests his head on my shoulder the entire ride to the penthouse.

“Hey, buddy!” Tara says when she sees him. I put him down, expecting him to run right into her opened arms, but he holds on to my leg instead. Tara’s smile drops, and she looks at me, her eyes questioning. I shrug at her and look down at Vincent.

“Are you okay, Vincent? Tara needs your help in the kitchen.”

“When are you going home?” he asks her. His voice is low, and he refuses to look at her. He stares at the floor instead.

“Tara lives here, remember?” I tell him.

He shrugs his little shoulders, continues to look down at the floor as he says, “Well, I want her to go home now. I don’t want her to live with us anymore.”

I look up just in time to see Tara flinch. Her mouth opens and her eyes fill with tears right before she gives us her back.

“Vincent,” I say, fighting for control, “why did you say that?”

“I don’t like her anymore,” he says, his voice filling the kitchen.

Tara’s shoulders drop, and she holds on to the kitchen counter for support.

“Vincent!” I yell. “Apologize right now.”

“No!” he yells back. He lets go of my leg and runs out of the room.

I approach Tara and put my hands on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure of how to handle this. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s probably just tired.”

“We both know that’s not it.” She leans into me and I hug her. The sound of stomping upstairs gets my attention, and I reluctantly leave Tara and go upstairs.

I find him in his room, furiously throwing all his toys on the floor and stomping on them. He stops when he sees me and runs to hide under his covers. Since he was a baby, he’d do that. Hide whenever he thinks someone is upset with him.

I sigh and sit on his bed and tap his shoulders.

“Vincent,” I say, “come out from under there.”

“I don’t want to!”

---